


The Grumpiest, Sickliest, and Least Majestic Dwarf-King Ever

by karategal



Series: A Hobbit in the Lonely Mountain [7]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Awkward Thorin, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:17:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karategal/pseuds/karategal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins loved his husband dearly, but when it came to being sick, Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain, was the absolute <em>worst</em> patient that anyone could ever hope to encounter. And if he tried to bite the hand that fed him one more time, Bilbo was strapping him to the bedpost, treason be damned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grumpiest, Sickliest, and Least Majestic Dwarf-King Ever

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or actors from _The Hobbit_. Everything belongs to the great and powerful J.R.R. Tolkien.

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain and direct descendent of Durin the Deathless himself, was the absolute worst patient in the world.

Absolutely dreadful did not even begin to describe the dwarf's behavior, which was in direct violation of every order, verbal thrashing, and prescribed medication that Óin had assigned to him. Bilbo sincerely wondered if bashing one's husband over the head with an iron mace would warrant anything other than raised eyebrows from their strangely violent and terribly demented subjects. Nori always experienced a disturbing amount of arousal whenever he saw Dwalin beating the snot out of another dwarf, so the hobbit couldn't help but wonder if such an action would be viewed with admiration by Erebor's population. Even dear Dala and sweet Hania—two of the finest ladies that Bilbo had ever met!—saucily smiled when their husbands behaved in ways that would make Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and her awful troupe of twittering friends faint in the middle of a dead relative's auction.

But wait, wasn't that a good thing? Hmmm, Bilbo needed to think about this, perhaps even employ it. Oh yes, there was much to—

"I'm dying...

"Oh goodness, not this again," sighed the hobbit. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I have the runs."

"Well, you wouldn't have such horrible bowel movements if you'd not drank all that mead and eaten all my pie," Bilbo scolded. "You know better than to do that, Thorin. It's not good for your stomach. Or my sanity."

The Dwarf-King was practically crawling on the floor, balance thrown completely off by the tankards of mead in his stomach and the terrible cold that was wreaking havoc in his clogged up skull. Bilbo just sighed and walked over to retrieve him, the dwarf unabashedly moaning when Bilbo attempted to grab him under the armpits. He would have never thought that Thorin Oakenshield, who was perhaps one of the grumpiest dwarves to ever grump, would be ticklish on a solid one-third of his deliciously muscular body. Not that Bilbo was complaining, of course, but it did make lifting him up even _more_ difficult than usual.

"Don't you dare fight me on this, Thorin. I will win and you will lose. Terribly. And then I'll brag to Dwalin about it."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh yes, I very much will and you know it. Honestly, what makes you think that I won't embarrass your prickly behind if it'll get you to cooperate?"

"Bribery's an awful trait."

"Not if it gets you to stay in bed for more than a half-hour," said Bilbo as he dragged Thorin into the washroom. "Now, be a good boy, do your duty, and shout when you're done. I don't want you bashing that thick head of yours against the bowl again."

"By Mahâl, not again! Ugh..."

With that said, Bilbo gave his husband some privacy and decided to straighten up their bed in the meantime, nose wrinkling at the sickly smell that now permeated the entire room. Thorin was utterly unbearable when sick, stubbornly refusing all treatment until his body gave out and forced him into liquid upheaval or a loss of consciousness. When it came to this particular illness, it appeared that the former had happened shortly before the latter. Not that that made it any better, but according to Dís, Thorin had always been quite the overachiever and hitting two embarrassments with one bout of stupidity seemed to be right up his proverbial alley.

"And he says that the boys are moronic fools," Bilbo mumbled to himself. "Honestly, they're not half as terrible he is when sick or injured. At least they listen to their mother and the healers. And sometimes me. Or always, at least when food's involved in any sense of the word."

In the hobbit's hand was the note that a trio of guards had left by the bedchamber doors:

_Your Highness,_

_We discovered His Majesty knocking over a large keg of mead in the royal dining hall, seemingly drunk and disoriented. He proceeded to vomit all over our boots and curse a specific royal who shall not be named. We would have taken him to the healers, but His Majesty kept kicking Gurul in the jewels. It may now be prudent to take Gurul to the healers and allow His Majesty to remain in your care. He's been demanding it. Violently. And we're not quite sure what happened to his clothes..._

_Terribly sorry for the inconvenience,_

_Lori, Gurul & Hogor _

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose and released an aggravated sigh, the rather hilarious note safely deposited into a bedside drawer so that it could be used in the future as blackmail. The hobbit had enough embarrassing secrets and absurdities on each of his dwarves to bury them alive, and Bilbo certainly wasn't afraid to use said blackmail to his advantage if the situation called for it.

"What do you think, Jasper? Should I leak our beloved King's latest gas problem to his little sister?"

The deerhound grunted in reply, lounging on the moose-pelt beside the roaring fireplace with his three siblings. All of them were tuckered out from a long and chilly hunt on the northern plains with Kíli and his corps of archers, wiry fur still damp from the snowstorm that had barreled in a scant few hours ago. Bilbo wasn't quite sure how the dogs had ended up in their chambers, but he had his suspicions.

Kíli could be downright lazy when he put his mind to it.

With an aggrieved sigh, Bilbo wandered back to the bathroom door and called, "Thorin? Darling? You haven't collapsed into the bowl again, have you? Or tripped into the wall and cracked your skull? My heart won't survive another stunt like that."

No response.

"I don't remember stuff like this being in our marriage contract," grumbled the hobbit as he opened the door. "Honestly, it's like I have four children running about and not listening to a word I say, except one's nearly two centuries old and thinks he rules the bloody world."

The hobbit stomped right in and walked over to the toilet, eyes fixed on the wrinkled cloth that he'd likely be cleaning up Thorin's pasty face and messy beard with. Bilbo was still mumbling to himself when he arrived at a rather empty urinal, eyes darting all around to the corners to make sure that his husband hadn't passed out in one again. That had been an awful surprise last winter, for both Bilbo and his ridiculously overworked spouse.

"Oh..."

Apparently, Thorin had seen fit to draw himself a bath while Bilbo was fretting and puttering about their bedchambers. The dwarf was almost completely submerged in the bubble-filled water, dark hair floating around like a tangle of seaweed while his hazy eyes followed Bilbo's every move. If it wasn't for this latter indication of life, Bilbo would have feared that a case of drowning was now on his hands.

"Comfortable?"

Several bursts of bubbles was the Dwarf-King's response.

"Well, this should certainly help clear out your congested nose and sinuses," said the hobbit. "Óin has recommended a humid bath for each of the boys' illnesses, so it's nice that you're one step ahead of me for once. Should we try some hot soup again in a bit?"

Yet another burst of bubbles.

"I would call you rather adorable at the moment, but that would wound your silly dwarven pride, wouldn't it?"

More bubbles.

Bilbo snickered and said, "If that's all you're gonna give me, then I'll just whip together some of my mother's famous chicken soup with a tall glass of ginger tea. Worked like a charm when I was a tiny faunt and—"

A large hand reached out and grabbed the hobbit's ankle as he walked by the bath, effectively yanking Bilbo into the warm pool of sandalwood-scented bubbles, peppermint tea leaves, and one very hairy dwarf. Sputtering and flailing with indignity, Bilbo wasted no time in smacking his husband over the head, more than a little affronted when the King just smiled down at him in amusement. Yes, being held in Thorin's arms like some ludicrous bride was always an enjoyable affair, but the circumstances were more than a little crude and insulting and Bilbo really wasn't a fan of drenched nightclothes.

"You just couldn't control yourself, could you?"

Thorin didn't even attempt to defend himself, which wasn't surprising considering the dwarf's shameless nature when it came to nudity and communal baths. Well, Thorin was brash and improper about that kind of stuff so long as _other_ people didn't get to see his hobbit in the buff. Family and Company members received a special exemption, but even that could be revoked if Thorin was feeling especially surly on a particular day.

"Just so you know, this is where Fíli and Kíli get their evil streaks from and no, it's from your—"

And then he felt it.

"By the Green Lady, Thorin! Put that thing away!"

With a groan of disbelief, Bilbo shoved his hand into the unsuspecting dwarf's face and somehow managed to free his upper torso and legs from those tentacle-like arms. Honestly, Thorin was sick as a mangy warg, leaking boogers and phlegm and melodramatic whines everywhere, and he _still_ produced a monstrous hard-on that could rival the Stone Giants themselves. For being such a reserved and secretive race of people, dwarves were utterly ridiculous when it came to their sexual appetites after marriage, and the King of Erebor was no exception to this very prevalent rule.

"I was lonely."

"Oh yes, darling, I can certainly feel that."

Yet another melodramatic sigh. "We haven't done anything in _weeks_ , âzyungel. Those blasted tree-humpers have been stealing you from us."

"For the love of Mahâl, nobody's stealing me from you," said Bilbo with a roll of his eyes. He was surprised they hadn't fallen out yet. "Especially not the elves. If anybody is, it's the boys, but they're always my first priority and should be yours, too. See? No stealing."

"They're part of the reason we can't _do_ anything."

Bilbo snickered, easily imagining the sullen look on Thorin's face, all frustrated and grumpy about their nephews barging in on the rare quiet moments that the past couple weeks had afforded them. What more did he expect when living with two tweens and a small faunt?

"Well, I suppose we can do a _little_ something."

Small fingers encircled the King's aching cock, slowly working around the head and shaft in sharp patterns that had long since been seared into his brain. Bilbo kept his back to the dwarf all throughout, reaching his free hand backwards to massage Thorin's scalp and rounded ears while the Dwarf-King attempted to divest his husband of whatever clothes he could.

It was a losing battle.

"Ouch! That wasn't what you were looking for, I can guarantee you."

"Sorry."

"And no kissing," ordered Bilbo when the King attempted to turn his head to the side for their usual fare of filthy necking. "I'll not worsen my chances of catching whatever it is you have, dearest. No, stop that."

Thorin groaned in response; whether it was from the firm twist on his cock or the refusal of kisses, Bilbo couldn't be sure. But he was very aware of the mouth and tongue that were now assaulting his pointed ears, breathy sniffles and croaks punctuating several particularly vigorous licks along the sensitive tip. When it came to enthusiasm in lovemaking, the King of Erebor received nothing but top marks, something that Bilbo never failed to appreciate. Even when sick with a stomach bug and a head cold to rival all head colds, Thorin was utterly devoted to pleasuring his hobbit-y spouse.

Now if he could only figure out how to get his hand into Bilbo's sodden pants, then they'd be set for the evening.

"Oh, umzam..."

"I love you dearly, my sickly King Under the Mountain, but if that's snot I feel on my shoulder and neck..."

"That's my tongue."

"Doesn't feel like it. Are you lying to me?"

"I'd never."

"Just because I'm horny doesn't mean I'm gullible, you great lump."

"My lump is rather great, isn't it?" The dwarf snickered and groaned at the same time; a rather amusing sound if Bilbo didn't say so himself. "And you've never complained before. Except about it's _intimidating_ girth."

"You're terrible."

The hobbit slowly worked his way down, paying special attention to the pierced crown and veiny underside of his husband's cock. He loved driving Thorin to frantic hisses and gasps and groans, the King finally rutting in earnest against Bilbo's partially bare buttocks, large hand now palming at the hobbit's own erection. Despite still being stuck in his trousers, Bilbo figured that his husband's progress was better than nothing. And that hand certainly felt lovely indeed. A ghosting of Thorin's fingers down the back of Bilbo's pants resulted in a sharp tug at his hair and shoulder, the hobbit's breath catching in his throat when Thorin purposely massaged around the crease of his ass. Honestly, even when hacking up a lung of phlegm, his husband was still a ridiculous tease.

"You have no idea..." groaned the King, "How good that feels..."

Bilbo giggled at the faint purring he could both hear and feel coming from Thorin's chest. It was one of the hobbit's favorite sounds in the world—nothing could ever hope to beat the sound of his nephews' laughter and excited voices, of course—and Bilbo always tried to coax that adorable rumble out of Thorin whenever they were intimate or just curled up in bed together. He was positive that no one besides the boys, Dís, and himself had ever heard it.

And then Thorin started rumbling in Khuzdul. It ranked right up there with the purring in Bilbo's opinion.

"Perhaps we could speed this process up a bit," gasped Bilbo, toes curling when Thorin's other hand shoved down the front of his pants. Dwarves truly did have skillful hands and fingers. "Dori's due back with Frodo any minute now."

"Achhhhhhooooooo!"

"Well, that's just downright charming. Ohhhhh, right there, darling."

Normally, Bilbo would've turned around and reached a mutual climax with his husband, both of their hands greedily pumping and rutting together while their mouths were too busy kissing to utter anything more than breathy moans. But time wasn't something they had in abundance at the moment, nor was privacy. Thorin's croaky breathing wasn't the most attractive thing either, but Bilbo had a strong suspicion that orgasm was just the sleep medicine that he needed right now. It wouldn't be the first time he'd knocked out the overworked Dwarf-King in such a manner.

"Bilbo..."

"I know, my love," soothed the hobbit, turning his head just a bit to kiss Thorin's sweaty forehead and cheek. "No need to hold back. I'm right here and not about to stop. Just remember to breathe, okay?"

"Please, âzyungel, I need..."

"Shhhhh, just let go, Thorin." He could feel his own breath hitching when the King's fingers finally pushed into his hole. "Oh goodness..."

It wasn't one of their finest moments, not by far, but Bilbo was more than satisfied when his release took him, sagging back against Thorin as the Dwarf-King rumbled out his own climax and curled around Bilbo's smaller form. They just floated there for several long moments, Thorin's hands still shoved down Bilbo's pants while the hobbit played with his husband's abundant pubic and stomach hair. It was so nice and peaceful and Bilbo really didn't want it to—

"Achhhhhhooooooo!"

Well, that certainly answered any questions Bilbo had about them remaining in the bath any longer. Thorin may have been a tough ol' dope, but he'd be passing out pretty soon and Bilbo preferred not to drown under the rock-like weight of his dwarven husband. After pushing Thorin to the side and wiggling out of his now-ruined trousers, Bilbo gently floated the King onto the pool's steps, scrubbing both himself and Thorin down with a bar of sandalwood soap before then rubbing oils through his long hair as well. It was a familiar routine that Bilbo probably could have performed in his sleep.

"Okay, Thorin, there's a lot I'm willing to do for you and our marriage, but dragging you out of a near-overflowing bathtub is not one of them," said Bilbo, purposely poking at all of his husband's most ticklish spots to get him moving. "Don't pout at me like that. The sooner you get dried off, the sooner I can make you some of my mother's chicken soup and put you to bed."

"I'm not a child."

"You could've fooled me. Now, c'mon, up and over here. I'll even dry you off, you stubborn dwarf."

"But it's cold."

"Of course, it's cold. We're inside a mountain in the far north and you have a head cold and who knows what else," said Bilbo as he scrubbed at Thorin's hair with a fluffy blue towel that Ori had made for them. "Now lift up your arms and spread your legs. I swear, how it's possible to sprout so much hair is beyond me. No wonder the lot of you only get cold in the winter months."

A door could be heard slamming in the distance and Bilbo was positive that it was Dori returning with Frodo and his newest batch of lesson plans in tow. The faunt was quite the academic and devoured books like Bombur did honey cakes, something that Bilbo took no small amount of pride in. With a swiftness borne of being a Baggins and then having three nosy boys living with him, Bilbo shoved both himself and Thorin into a clean pair of shirts and trousers that he kept in a nearby cabinet. One could never be too careful with clean clothing when living with a horde of rowdy dwarves.

"Bilbo!"

"We'll be out in a moment," Bilbo yelled back. "Just gotta get this last snarl out of your hair..."

"Ouch!"

And with that, Bilbo shuffled his hacking husband into their bedchambers and was startled to see not two, but four persons standing near their fireplace. Dori and Nori were bickering over some new type of training Frodo should be getting—honestly, it was _always_ something whenever those two were involved—while Dwalin was seated in front of the fire, Frodo curled up in his lap to examine the dwarf's newest axe.

"Whatever you two are arguing about," said Bilbo, "I'm sure it can wait until morning. The King's not feeling well tonight—"

"It's just a head cold!"

"—and I'd like to put him to bed before he hacks up a lung or worse—"

"I'm right here."

"—so let's try to keep the noise levels down, aye?"

"Still here."

Bilbo steered the extra-grumpy dwarf towards their bed and promptly shoved him into it. "I'm well-aware of that, darling. Now lay down and stop being so difficult. It'll only take me a short while to whip up some of my mother's soup and ginger tea."

"Ugghhhhhh..."

With that said, Bilbo bustled into the kitchen and started to rummage for ingredients in the cupboards and pantry. If Bilbo hadn't been readying the stove at just the right moment, he never would have heard Dwalin's laughter or Thorin's violent curses as he raced into the bathroom yet again. A loud whack and yelp could be heard not too long after and the hobbit wondered if it was Nori or Dwalin who had received Dori's trademark head-smack of disappointment. And then he received his answer...

"Your Kingliness," shouted Dwalin with an evil smirk, "My brother's council meeting is tomorrow at the ninth bell. Do you reckon you'll feel better by then?"

Vomiting could be heard. "Yeah, 'cause I'm gonna be dead!"

"Bebother and confusticate stubborn dwarves," Bilbo mumbled to himself. "Dwalin, could you please fetch Óin? Whether he likes it or not, Thorin needs another looking at by a proper healer."

"Can I stay for the examination?"

"No."

"But that's just not fair."

"Too bad."

"Ummmm, Uncle Bilbo?" said Frodo from where he was peeking through the bathroom door. "Uncle Thorin's not supposed to be laying face down in the corner, is he? Because that's what he's doing right now."

"By Yavanna, how did I marry into this mess?"

**Author's Note:**

> One of my closest friends had recently been sick for over a week and he's one of the most melodramatic sick people you'll ever encounter. Doctors and medical students truly are the worst patients. And it seems that several people had found my writing of silly, awkward sex scenes to be pretty amusing, so consider this to be a very belated answer to those requests from a while ago. Sorry about the delay, but my doctoral program really enjoys kicking my ass nowadays. Rapid-posting like I used to just isn't possible right now, so you guys gotta bear with me.


End file.
